


star treatment

by unthank



Series: our favourite worst nightmare [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Heartbreak Sex, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, One Night Stand, Post-Time Skip, Unrequited Love, kita is at the 2021 olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unthank/pseuds/unthank
Summary: Shinsuke aches for a man he can never touch, but Oikawa does too. And maybe it's a little too late, but there's always ways to relieve that ache.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Oikawa Tooru
Series: our favourite worst nightmare [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954024
Comments: 19
Kudos: 81





	star treatment

**Author's Note:**

> [And as we gaze skyward, ain't it dark early?](https://open.spotify.com/track/0b93tWwuoAC0nXe1CfR30I?si=P0MT2hvdTdmXL1vUaUBr6g)
> 
> cw: explicit sexual content in part x

**i.**

There's a loneliness to starting again.

You stand.

He stands.

Two halves yet each one whole the same.

  
  


Between you lies a bed, a half misplaced discomfort you can’t quite understand, that your mysteries can’t yet fathom. But you made this bed and now 

you must lie in it.

  
  
  


**ii.**

Kita Shinsuke lives his life protecting his varied ordinariness. To him, he knows, he believes, that there’s nothing more ordinary than tilling the earth to produce the homegrown standard needed to feed his country’s people. He believes in the ordinariness of the everyday. 

But, you see, it happens sometimes that the ordinary is disturbed, and Shinsuke finds himself outside the Olympic Village in Tokyo.

He’d been here to watch Atsumu’s games, eternally proud of his  _ kouhai _ , his golden boy. Which he is, Atsumu has always been golden in Shinsuke’s eyes, and he hates that he’ll be in a bad shape after losing this match. Shinsuke only wants to see his boy with laughter in his mouth, between his teeth. He doesn’t want to see him bruised by that arrogant blue.

And he’s here outside the village, waiting to see that boy. And he’s a day too early, but he hopes, he wishes, that maybe he’ll see him sooner.

**iii** .

Shinsuke feels out of place here. In a hotel room far away from the suntanned open fields belonging to his home. He makes a mess of him, miles away from any half-useful life, miles back home in his ordinary comforts. 

He’s here in his hotel room, packed his life into his monogrammed suitcase and he knows, though it’ll never happen, that he’d drop it all for a boy who’s never looked at him in the way his stomach craves.

  
  


**iv.**

At some point, while Shinsuke waits outside, blue as light as dawn catches the corner of his eye. He stands there for a moment, almost missing the imposing god that passes him by; all blue and gold and burnt maple hair. But they stop then, they turn to face Shinsuke and he feels his breath catch deep within his lungs.

Oikawa Tooru was a terrifying presence on the court, even seated lightyears away Shinsuke knew that. In front of him, facing him, brown tanned skin and a mouth made to curl to a smirk, Oikawa lingers. He isn’t as tall as Atsumu, he isn’t as broad shouldered, but he crowds the space around them like he owns the world and Shinsuke isn’t sure what to do.

But Oikawa looks at him. He reads him like a book left open. And his eyes soften then, less of a hard stone storm and more the warm comfort of a slow burning wood fire.

“This isn’t the place for dolls like you and I,” he says, low and aching. “Come with me.”

  
  


**v.**

Oikawa takes him to a cool green park nearby, surprisingly empty despite the Olympics and away from the Village that haunts his very thoughts. Shinsuke doesn’t know why he’s here, but Oikawa seems far gentler than the monster he saw on the court.

The evening is drawing to a close. White light lamps flicker on and girls with hands in each other’s pockets filter through the growing dark, giggling behind their hands as they watch them both, starstruck and girlish. Shinsuke remembers girls like this before. At high school, near their gym, in the stands of each of their volleyball matches calling out or whispering the names of the boys he was in charge of. Atsumu never responded to them in a way that wasn’t a snap or a snarl - Osamu filtered them out between chuupet flavoured kisses.

This other man ( _ boy, setter, beautiful _ ) doesn’t seem to mind their stares or bold-faced blushes. He isn’t the same as Atsumu at all, no matter what fleeting thoughts passed through Shinsuke’s mind.

There’s something grand and unsettling about Oikawa Tooru.

“You love them?” He asks. 

“Who?” Is all Shinsuke can reply.

“Whoever it was you’re waiting for.”

Shinsuke pauses then, even stiller that he was before, his hands trembling on the straps of his canvas backpack. He thinks that this man already knows the answer. He thinks he can see his own ache and burn mirrored in the godly aspect before him. What can he do but answer with his truth?

“Yes,” he replies. “I love him.”

**vi.**

He remembers, briefly, in his last year of high school seeing a video of a boy who could take down his own golden boy. He wonders why he never saw him take the throne.

**vii**

Shinsuke learns, as they sit together in the half-night park, that Oikawa loves someone too. But much like Atsumu, the man he loves has never loved him back, has never been able to at the right place or the right time.

“Who are they?” He asks, curious, polite.

Oikawa smiles in that strange way Shinsuke noticed he does. Mouth curled up, half crying and half laughing, his eyes hooded and all sincerity attempting to hide away. It makes Shinsuke want to run away. It makes Shinsuke want to taste him. This boy, this star studded man, makes him think that maybe love comes in bottles with twist off caps, something you can take a swig of and taste.

“My childhood friend,” Oikawa says, head resting on his chin. “He came back.”

“Came back?”

“To here, Japan. We both left at eighteen but he’s the only one who came back, something tethers him here.”

There isn’t anything Shinsuke can really say. How can he comfort a man he just met, whose situation is so different to his? (How can he, a man who’s comfortable watching his heart’s desire flourish in the arms of someone other, offer comfort to someone who so clearly yearns?)

But the summer evening is dark now, golden-glowed and pitch black. There’s a bar to the side, across the road, it’s blinking yellow neon sign lighting up the nighttime park. If Shinsuke drank, he’d suggest they went there. But he doesn’t, and instead he sits in the silence growing between them, wondering how this fearsome, beautiful man beside him could ache like he aches.

It’s easy to put someone on a pedestal. He knows this. He thinks it’s easier with men like Oikawa.

**viii.**

Oikawa takes him to a restaurant, a new fangled gimmicky-thing which doesn’t exist in his own little town. There’s a jukebox in the corner and a film up on the wall, he thinks that it’s possibly dark enough to dance in here, just them and no one else to see. 

They aren’t alone though. Oikawa’s introducing Shinsuke to someone he’s only met once before, but has seen and heard about often enough. He doesn’t know why, he didn’t ask when he was invited. His head is spinning and he thinks he might be dreaming, he mustn’t be alive — for what else could compel him to dine with the very man who crushed his Atsumu like a god striking down a mortal who dared defy him.

But Kageyama Tobio doesn’t seem to mind that Shinsuke is here. He has another boy with him, a man really, who’s all quiet, deep brown eyes and an expression that gives nothing away. Kageyama calls him Akira, says his name like it’s holy. He seems to be in love with this unfathomable boy beside him and it drips from his every gaze and every gentle, brushing touch to the other man’s hand - nothing is ever reciprocated, not in ways Shinsuke can see. 

(Maybe it reminds him a little too much of Atsumu’s boyfriend, maybe he’s reminded of the emptiness his own affections left behind)

Akira’s inscrutable gaze slides over Shinsuke, to Oikawa’s arm behind him. His pretty mouth half twitches for a moment, slender fingers entwining further in Kageyama’s worn setter’s hand; seeing him, Shinsuke is reminded of a weapon, a slim little blade hidden in lacquered jewellery. He doesn’t speak, not much at all, and the conversation is steered around him.

Shinsuke clears his throat, deciding to answer the question that could burn his tongue, remove himself from the strange air building around them, “Ah, Kageyama-kun, how is Atsumu?”

“Ah,” Kageyama frowns then, as if struggling to find his words. “Atsumu-san is… He’s… Sakusa-san is with him.”

“Of course,” Shinsuke smiles, though his chest constricts and he almost ceases to breathe. 

And Oikawa looks at him then, curious then satisfied — his eyes heavy, hooded, and just in that moment, Shinsuke is sure he’s prey to this man’s predator. (He is. Oikawa could eat men like him with the ferocity of a god starved of a mortal man’s touch.) He thinks he can hear Akira say “ _ What do you mean you’ve never seen Blade Runner? _ ” in response to a blunt cutoff remark made by Kageyama. Films aren’t the end of the world to boys like Kageyama Tobio, they’re a meaning in life to boys like Akira.

There’s something— it’s nothing— it’s Oikawa’s strong hands reaching over to hold one of his. Shinsuke feels very small in this space all of a sudden. His rice-worked hands rough and undeserving to be held by hands of someone who commands his own bluetoned army.

**ix.**

Shinsuke sees not only a god, but a man; a boyking placed on a high, high throne far before his time. When a crown is too heavy it shapes a man’s body, and Oikawa’s body is held upright, balanced, molded around the coronation foisted upon him at such a tender age. 

**x.**

In the warm yellowed light of his hotel room, Shinsuke has Oikawa on top of him, straddling him. He’s grinding down on him, hips working a steady rhythm that flexes his muscles in a way that could leave Shinsuke so easily dazed. They’ve been here barely more than an hour. Oikawa’s hands on Shinsuke’s toned stomach — Shinsuke’s hands finding their way to Oikawa’s hips, gripping him and holding him down against his own growing hardness.

As suddenly as this started, Oikawa is fingering himself, working himself open with low, half breathless gasps that make Shinsuke want to choke. They make him want to flip Oikawa onto his stomach, push his cock into tight heat and fuck the royal pride out of him.

“I thought,” Shinsuke manages to say, his voice already rough. “That you’d want to be in control. That you’d be in my position.”

“Who says I’m not in control?” Oikawa smiles, eyes rolling back as he sinks down on Shinsuke’s cock.

They stay like that for a moment. Oikawa breathing as he settles, seemingly losing himself to the stretch Shinsuke gives him. If Oikawa is losing himself, Shinsuke isn’t sure what’s happening to him; if this man doesn’t start moving he’s certain he’ll lose any sense of composure he might have left.

When Oikawa does start moving, it’s slow. He grinds in between, taking in every inch and drawing out gravelled moans from somewhere deep in Shinsuke’s chest. The room is almost silent now. The hot, heady air around them filled with the slick sounds of skin against skin, of Oikawa riding his cock like he was ravenous for the pleasure only another man could give him. 

He’s letting out these half-rasped whines and moans that threaten to force Shinsuke to lose his mind. His head is tipped back, soft hair slick with the sweat of summer heat and sex — his throat open and bare and begging for Shinsuke to sink sharp teeth into him. He wants to ruin this demigod of a man, he wants to claim him as something debauched by a man made from the deep green earth.

Oikawa’s breathing is getting far more ragged. Shinsuke rocks his hips up, fingers bruising the other man’s hips, hitting every angle that draws out half-wailed cries. They’re both close, he can feel it. And he touches Oikawa’s unattended cock, coaxing an almost-sob as he runs his thumb over the tip. He wants to see this king come undone, he wants far more than he thinks is healthy for a man to want.

And Oikawa comes then, coming over Shinsuke’s stomach and chest, squeezing the cock in him far harder than he was before. Shinsuke spills, faster than expected; and Oikawa rides them both through it, somehow staying on top despite his thighs shaking and his voice beginning to crack.

But it’s quiet when they both finish, Oikawa’s resting in the crook of Shinsuke’s neck. There’s something here that feels bare open and raw, as he showed a stranger shadows of himself he’d never dare expose to those he knows he loves.

He’s coming back down to earth, down an elevator to his own make-believe residency — almost nearing a honeymoon suite. He wishes this is what he always lived in.

**xi.**

You think of him, your golden boy. You don’t know when loving him became a chore, no longer a warm secret buried inside your heart. Maybe, possibly, you wonder if you can learn to let him go.

You should.

**xii.**

There’s something frighteningly human about having a man lie in your arms, when hours before he seemed like an untouchable god.

“What’s he like?” Oikawa murmurs into Shinsuke’s skin.

“Hm?” 

“Atsumu,” he says, as if he’s repeating what he said before. “Is he anything like me?”

Perhaps he was. His Atsumu was a wild boy who played with equal skill and vicious strategy, who made his spikers feel as if they were hitting towards the sun. There was a difference though, he knew. Oikawa owned where Atsumu claimed.

“No, not really,” he replies. “Atsumu hungers, he devours. You like to rule.”

Oikawa hums, tracing patterns on Shinsuke’s chest. He doesn’t say anything after that, but he laces his fingers in between Shinsuke’s, hooking one long leg around his. 

There is a loneliness, Shinsuke knows, to starting again. But this, whatever he lit between him and Oikawa, isn’t a bad place to start; it isn’t lonely at all, he wants to bask in the light he knows he sparked in the other man’s eyes.

**xiii.**

Shinsuke lives his everyday with the memory of a man who existed like a royal deity. He lives with the craving created by touching mortal blue disguised as a silver god — he wants to, he hopes he can, touch the same man again. He’s built his everyday around the little things he does, craving, loving; he can add one more desire to a pool of many.

The night sky is just a little too dark.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> this is the second fic in a string of stories based around arctic monkeys songs. while they're linear, they're all interconnected, but don't have to be read together. this particular fic is based on the song _star treatment_ , which is deeply reminiscent of oikawa in my eyes. the whole album is comes from reminds me of him. i might write him and kita again, possibly explore the relationship they might have blossomed here.
> 
> the formatting that happened in parts i and xi are inspired by fatal's kunikage fic, venus trine mars. [you can read it here, though you should really read the whole series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26199367)
> 
> thank you again for reading! i hope you can love oikita as much as i do
> 
> twitter @[kuguken](https://twitter.com/kuguken)


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